


The Set of the Sails

by Peapods



Category: Pundit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peapods/pseuds/Peapods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is the set of the sails, not the direction of the wind that determines which way we will go." Cuba, 1938.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Set of the Sails

The air was warm and balmy and Anderson breathed in salt and sugar as he stepped off the boat. He took off his hat, letting the sunshine blind him as he took in the bustle of Havana. Taking a rare break from his charitable foundation and globetrotting reporting for the New York Times, he had decided the decadence of Havana, and the foreignness of Cuba, would be the perfect getaway. Already, his linen shirt was soaked with sweat as he made his way down the boulevards with his one bag, but it hardly mattered when everyone around him was sweating too.

He checked into one of the first hotels he saw. It was not one of the grander ones, full of casinos and glitzy gowns, but had its own restaurant and the feeling that it had been here long before Havana became the trendy vacation spot. Inside, he was cooler as the stone or stucco walls kept out most of the heat. He quickly obtained a room and dumped his belongings in a small, but well-appointed suite. The sun was beginning to set and he smiled as he changed shirts and headed out into the busier parts of the city. Most of the people on this island--correction--most of the _Americans_ on this island were not interested in the continuing economic problems at home nor the rising threats from leaders abroad.

Street performers, music pouring out from open windows, and the loud conversations of passing groups filled Anderson's ears. It was a strange departure from marching feet, dissenting voices, and tense silences which he'd become used to in his travels. In his mind the beat of the drums became the clicking of boots, the songs became protests, the wind that fluttered his shirt, teasing his nipples, whistled through his ears. He shook his head to dispel images in color and black and white, focused on here and now.

He was his own boss usually, but he'd had more than one friendly suggestion that he take a vacation. Finally, after nearly blowing up at the wife of an important fundraiser he had taken their advice and booked passage to Cuba. His stomach grumbled and he sighed, eyes seeking out some place to eat. He immediately discounted all the major resorts and casinos, looking for local places, sniffing them out even as other smells, like lingering body odor, battled to take their place.

He finally settled on a small cafe-like restaurant, taking a table outside. He was immediately served and he ordered a rum and Coke with a stalk of sugar cane. He sipped his drink distractedly as he perused the menu. Making his decision he set it aside and swirled his drink, scanning his environment. It wasn't too long before he felt eyes boring into him.

He was familiar with the sensation and did his best not to search too obviously, only kept up his cursory sweep of the street. One finger stroked at the hairs that fell across his forehead, pushing them up and away. His silver hair made him stand out, a good thing in charity and a bad thing in journalism, but he doubted it was this attribute--odd for his age--that captivated his watcher.

Finally, his gaze captured the eyes of his onlooker.

A smirk, severe blue eyes, and smoking cigar were the only things he saw at first. Large fingers pulled the cigar from the man's mouth and Anderson finally noticed the man was pretty large all over. Half a foot taller than Anderson, at least, hair silvered as well, but more gray than white. And he immediately took note when Anderson's eyes met his. He raised a drink, amber and rich looking, in salute, bowing his head a little. Anderson allowed a small smile, confused but pleased, to grace his face and raised his own drink briefly.

Alcohol burned down his throat and he pulled the sugar cane stick from the drink, mashing it between his molars, delighting in the sweet taste that was both like and unlike pure sugar. The man's eyes stayed on him, taking a long gulp, stare fixated on Anderson's mouth, the sugar cane. He pulled from his mouth and shifted in his seat, determinedly removing the man from his line of direct sight. His waitress came around, depositing an unasked for, but much appreciated, drink in front of him. He quickly ordered, hoping his pronunciation hadn't fallen too much by the wayside. The waitress, a pretty young girl, maybe only sixteen but already used to and accepting of the admiring gaze of men, smiled at him and took the menu.

His body prickled with the knowledge that he was still being watched.

He met the man's stare again, infusing his face with a challenge, with a question. The man's smile grew and he drained his drink and made his way to the restaurant. He lowered himself gracefully into the chair opposite Anderson's, crossing one leg over the other with an ease that belied his large stature.

Anderson let a smile grace his own face, letting the bottom of his drink rotate on the edges on the table. "Awfully forward, aren't you?"

"And who was it practically begging me with their eyes to come over here?" the man answered and Anderson had to suppress the shiver that went up his spine. He had a deep, resonant voice. His diction, despite however much he'd had to drink, was perfect, his teeth white and mostly straight. The slight gut Anderson had detected was more evident up close, but wasn't unattractive on him. He wore a linen shirt like Anderson's but with a tan colored vest thrown over top, unbuttoned. He looked every inch the unconcerned traveler.

"Touche," Anderson muttered, still smiling. "Have you eaten?"

"I hadn't, actually," the man sounded a little surprised. "And we should probably get names before sharing a meal. It seems only _civilized_." The last word was infused with so much contempt that Anderson felt his eyebrows raising without him consciously thinking about it.

"Anderson Cooper," he offered, holding out his hand. The man took it and though Anderson's hand wasn't much smaller he still felt as though it had been enveloped. He noted the pattern of hair falling across the man's knuckles and the back of his palm, the smooth tanned skin.

"Keith," the man said. "What brings you to Cuba, Anderson?"

"Vacation," Anderson said, knowing the distaste in his voice was evident.

"And your definition of a vacation?" Keith asked.

"Something I'm forced to take when I almost take someone's head off," Anderson answered truthfully. He didn't like vacations, but even he knew that sometimes it was necessary. Perhaps in human history the idea of a "vacation" was fairly new, perhaps not, but Anderson could not imagine the ancients having the amount of stress, the daily influx of stimuli and information and _life_ that people today did.

"Whereas I believe in the perpetual vacation, the escape, the denial of anything but a life of pure debauchery," Keith said, his tone of voice making Anderson furrow his brow with curiosity. Was that bitterness he'd detected? Or was he projecting?

The waitress came out with Anderson's food, startling a little at Keith's appearance. The other man ordered a bourbon on the rocks and his unnerving stare as Anderson cut up his chicken made his fingertips prickle.

"Familiar with Cuba, then?" Anderson asked cautiously.

Keith shrugged and then nodded. "I've been... convalescing here for about six years."

"Were you ill?"

"In a manner of speaking," Keith answered, tone clearly indicating that the subject should be dropped.

"So, you know the area well?" Anderson asked.

"Some places more than others, but yes, one could I'm familiar with the general layout of the city," he said sipping from his recently arrived drink.

"How about a tour?"

He had, apparently, managed to catch his strange, new companion off-guard. "What, tonight?"

Anderson laughed, and scooped at his rice, "I mean, if there are places I should see at night, by all means, but I didn't necessarily mean tonight." He let himself flirt, let his eyes flicker up under his fringe, noting the smile, the deep breath and large sip Keith took.

"I think we could arrange something like that," Keith rumbled.

*****

Anderson did not sleep with Keith that night. They parted ways at the cafe, exchanging necessary information. They didn't kiss, they didn't touch, and yet the erotic charge between them had Anderson nearly racing for his hotel room. He collapsed on his bed, a little drunk, a lot turned on and pushed his trousers down to his knees.

He lay there for long moments, letting soft breezes caress his aching dick, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, nipples peaking with arousal rather than the rippling wind. His head swam in the heat but he ignored it in favor of the shocks that made his erection grow larger. Memories of Keith's hands and body and the rumbling thunder of his laugh and how it would feel to have his dick in that throat while Keith chuckled. He hadn't even touched himself and already his hips were restless, thrusting into thick, hot air.

He took deep breaths, trying to gain control, but the rum made him slow and stupid and so sexually aware that it only brought to bear the urgency of his need. His hand grabbed at his cock of its own accord and he pulled quickly, squeezing, thinking of the promise of Keith's expression, of the languid pose of his body. He hadn't had someone in so long, connecting with people only long enough to get off and the last had been months ago, no, a whole year.

His heightened state meant that only the thought of Keith's hand on him, his hand, his side, his knee, his cock, sent him hurtling over a precipice of desire so sharp that it burned his throat.

He gasped in the darkness, room lit by the moon and the vague glow of the streetlamp. His eyes blurred and his limbs buzzed as he pushed off all his clothing, maneuvering himself under the covers. He let himself drift off into cloudy nothingness, steel blue eyes and smug smirks following him into the black.

*****

Meeting Keith the next day Anderson had to struggle not to blush. He could vaguely remember the night before, arriving back at the hotel, pleasuring himself to thoughts of Keith. He was accustomed to having several different sexual partners at any one time. Men he could call up, able to give him whatever specific thing he needed. But for the past year he'd been too troubled by the state of global affairs around him to even think about pleasure. It had cost him his equilibrium, his hard-fought balance in a world that seemed determined to break him. Keith not only presented a wonderful opportunity, but the chance to reestablish his footing.

Keith was dressed much the same as he had been the night before and he looked relaxed and cool. The morning weather was slightly cooler, the wind harsher, and Anderson had to hold on to his hat as it tried to fly away from him.

"Not used to wearing a hat?" Keith asked him as Anderson reached him.

"Not really," Anderson answered, smiling. "But I figure it's either this or deal with a red scalp."

"And that color might clash with all that lovely white." Anderson took the teasing for what it was and laughed.

They strolled leisurely, talking, the world around them already alive with native activity even as the American tourists slept off hangovers and sex.

"So, Anderson, tell me things about yourself," Keith said as he flipped open a Zippo lighter on his pants and lit it off the rough fabric of them. He then went through some complicated ritual to prepare the cigar for smoking. As he began to puff on it Anderson breathed deeply the smoky, fruity smell. His regard was easily matched by Keith who sent a salacious smirk his way. "Do you smoke?"

"No, I don't," Anderson said, shaking his head, looking around him. "You know, you're a pretty terrible tour guide."

"Well," Keith said with an expansive gesture, "there's a fruit stand, a church, a casino. You've seen one you've pretty much seen what there is to see."

Anderson laughed. Keith was a strange sort. Though it looked as though he'd never left Havana, judging by his tan, it was obvious he'd seen at least some of the world.

"Why such a cynical attitude? No longer able to see the beauty in the world?"

"Oh, I know there's beauty in the world," he said with a pointed look in Anderson's direction that made him roll his eyes. "But I've also seen debase ugliness. Hard to see the beauty when you're surrounded by poverty and racism."

Anderson nodded, acutely familiar with what Keith was saying. "I came here to get away from it, but you and I appear to be the only ones who see what's really going on. These people," he said with a sweeping gesture of his hand, "they don't care about what's happening in the world. I mean, Austria has been merged with Germany and hundreds of thousands of people have been killed in China. But all they seem to care about is where the next drink is or how well they're doing at the craps table."

It didn't make him feel any better to get those things off his chest, rather he felt them all the more severely. "I saw it, Keith," he said quietly. "I was in China, watching it happen and I couldn't do a goddamn thing about it."

"You couldn't, couldn't even hope to, and that, friend, is why I am here. Why bother caring, why bother getting yourself tied up in knots? The world isn't going to change, and if it does it won't be any time soon."

"So, eat, drink, and be merry for there's nothing better to look forward to tomorrow?" Anderson asked, spinning the usual phrase to better fit Keith's philosophy.

Keith shrugged. "I may be a cynical bastard, but it works for me. You, on the other hand, you still have all the gleam of someone out to right the world's wrongs. Well, I salute you and wish you luck. I'll be here when you see how far that attitude gets you."

He was, by turns, infuriating and intriguing and that was probably the only reason that Anderson didn't abandon him there on the street. Maybe it was the teasing smile that he'd sent Anderson's way after his small diatribe. Maybe it was the brush of warm, hairy hands against his own as they walked. Anderson had slept with men with greater offenses against them.

They kept walking.

*****

Dinner was a solo affair, away from the restaurants and casinos. They had their food wrapped in newspaper and took a blanket down to the beach. All day they had been teasing one another with come-ons and brushes of skin, hot eyes and hotter breath. A whisper to his ear at an art gallery left Anderson shivery and aroused, fingers clenching in Keith's pants where no one could see, until the other man moved away. Anderson had retaliated with an 'accidental' brush of his hand down Keith's chest, across a nipple that quickly peaked. Keith's rushed intake of breath was enough to make Anderson grin, to look around for some dark corner to shove him into and take advantage of him.

There were people around on the beach, but they were further down, totally wrapped in their own lives and Keith and Anderson took their game further. Anderson licked Keith's fingers clean of juices and watched as a bulge grew in his trousers. Keith wasn't even that circumspect. He left his hand curled casually in Anderson's lap as they ate, rubbing and shifting often enough to keep Anderson painfully hard but with no relief.

Their dessert was sugar cane, doused in rum, and as Anderson chewed on an end he had an idea. Catching Keith's eye he sucked on the other end and gave it a firm bite before holding it in front of Keith's mouth. The other man smirked and took it in, sucking harder, and Anderson thought he could see his tongue swirling around it. When he released it, Anderson didn't hesitate to put it back in his mouth, feeling his cheeks blaze as he tasted Keith there. He swallowed, groaned a little, and chewed it obsessively, determined to get every bit of Keith's taste off of it.

"I see no reason to prolong the night," Keith finally said as they finished their rum. He stood and handed Anderson up, sweeping their trash into a nearby receptacle and throwing the blanket over one arm. "Your place is near?"

"Yes," Anderson affirmed breathlessly. They moved quickly, staying a few paces from one another. They picked up a bottle of rum on their way to the small villa Anderson had rented.

He threw open the windows in the bedroom, letting in dying sunlight and casting shadows over them. He didn't bother with a light. He backed away from Keith and stripped, letting the garments fall at his feet, feeling sweat pouring down his brow and chest. Keith's eyes didn't leave him, only slowly tracked his movements. He didn't remove any clothing.

Anderson stepped up to and scooted backwards onto the bed. It hadn't been made, he had not asked for maid service, and though he couldn't know it, the disarray of the white sheets and his tanner body created a debauched look that had Keith huffing loudly through his nose. He stripped silently and efficiently, with none of the seduction Anderson had tried to infuse in his, eyes glued to Anderson's body. His breath heaved in his chest as he thought about what was to come. He was suddenly very glad he had gotten himself off last night or this would have ended very quickly indeed.

When he was done, Keith didn't mess around, he stalked his way over, climbing like a giant cat over Anderson's body and Anderson closed his eyes at the furnace of heat that covered him. His hands came up around Keith's body and slipped in the sweat that had slicked the other man's back. He pressed, urging Keith's body down and when their bare skin made contact he moaned and thrust up, wrapping his arms more thoroughly around his lover.

"Jesus," Keith exclaimed. Their erections brushed and strained towards one another. Keith growled and captured Anderson's lips in their first kiss. He tasted like saffron and peppers and the sweet tang of sugar and rum. And his tongue was relentless, as though chasing those same tastes around Anderson's mouth. Anderson grunted like a whore into the kiss, his own tongue curling, his face abraded by the rough stubble around Keith's mouth. He rubbed against it more insistently, wanting to see the reddened skin there in the morning, feel the tenderness as he shaved himself or washed his face.

Keith's lips moved, nipping and licking his way across Anderson's jaw, sucking at the juncture of ear and neck and moving down. His clavicle, the muscle connecting it to his chest got particular attention and Anderson hadn't even known that was an erogenous zone, but he was clutching Keith's head to him, encouraging bites and sucking bruises. He opened and closed his eyes deliberately, trying to summon some kind of control. The wind was rippling the curtains and it raised goosebumps on Keith's back, but Anderson couldn't feel it, so thoroughly was he blanketed by Keith's heat.

He gasped in air, "Keith!" he cried as the man latched onto a nipple.

"You taste," Keith grumbled, the vibrations doing nothing to calm Anderson down. "Like salt and sugar."

"God, Keith, I can't--I need," and Keith must have been some kind of translator, because even though Anderson couldn't say exactly what it was he needed--slow down or speed up?--Keith seemed to know and without further ado, slid down Anderson's body and sucked his cock into his mouth with an absurd, obscene, utterly thrilling noise. Anderson reared up off the bed, one hand going behind him to hold him up and the other clenching in Keith's hair as an agonized gasp left him. He wondered how he must have looked, legs bent at the knees, head thrown back, pelvis thrusting into another man's mouth. He imagined Keith using him the same way and his thrusts became more urgent.

One finger lifted his balls and he felt it press against his perineum and down to his ass and he clenched around the invading digit as he shot into Keith's mouth, moaning harshly all the while. His arm collapsed and he instantly caught by feather pillows as soft licks and kisses cleaned him up and darted up his chest to his mouth.

They kissed, Anderson's tongue lazy and satiated and Keith's hovering at the edge of wild. "What do you want?" Anderson asked into his mouth. "You can have anything."

But Keith was shaking his head like he didn't know, like it didn't matter.

"Shh, here," Anderson said, pushing them to sitting. Keith stared at him on his knees and they kissed again. The breeze cooled Anderson's body off, made the sweat turn clammy, but it only seemed to enflame Keith, who growled and held onto Anderson's head with a fierce grip. "Come on," Anderson said, turning onto his own hands and knees, "Get behind me." He followed instructions and Anderson reached between his legs to grab Keith's rather large erection. He tugged gently, bringing Keith closer and tucked his cock between his thighs before bringing them together, creating a tight sheath.

Keith caught on quick, taking Anderson by the hips and thrusting shallowly. He groaned, picking up speed and depth. "So fucking beautiful," he moaned as a hand slipped down his back, kneading at knobbly vertebrae. Anderson looked down, watched the red, angry head emerge again and again, nudging his balls. His thighs were chafing but the sweat from keeping his legs so tightly bound together was making it better and and his own arousal was returning. His hands covered Keith's and he presed back so that he could bounce, miming another act, and felt Keith's chin hook over his shoulder as they both watched Anderson grow hard again.

"Youth," Keith grunted, one hand coming up to jack Anderson. They're movements grew erratic and mutually aroused, the temperature in the room began to climb again. The breeze and encroaching night did nothing to cool their bodies. Had they been fucking Keith would have been pounding him now and moments later he spilled over Anderson's thighs. His hand never faltered though a minutes later Anderson spilled for the second time, absolutely exhausted. They collapsed to the bed, horizontal, looking every inch as debauched as any other tourist.

It could have been hours later that they rose again, the moon risen, the sun gone, and washed off with cool water from the tap. They stripped the sheets down and laid naked on the top sheet, huddling close together to ward off what little chill there was.

"So, how long are you staying?" Keith asked, voice hoarse.

Anderson shrugged, "I didn't really set a return date for myself."

"Well, I think this night has only proved that we need to be spending the rest of your time here not too far from this bed," it made Anderson laugh.

"Well, according to you, I've seen everything there is to see, so why not?"

"Now, you start to understand the point of a vacation. Why not?"

*****

The telegram was waiting at the desk the next morning after Keith had gone home to change.

_COOPER. STOP. CONFERENCE IN MUNICH RE: CZECHOSLOVAKIA. STOP. TICKET FOR YOU AT MIAMI AIRPORT, NOON. STOP. GOOD LUCK._

He closed his eyes and crumpled the paper. He and Keith weren't supposed to meet until that afternoon and he had no idea where Keith lived. He sighed.

"I need to leave a note for someone, please," he said to the front desk manager, already thinking about the next assignment.

He didn't look backwards as he left and was on the next flight to Miami thirty minutes later, wind at his back. He didn't know that Keith arrived earlier than expected, full of good cheer, ready to get Anderson drunk and take advantage of him. Didn't see his handsome face drop into disappointment and resignation when he received Anderson's note. Didn't realize that in one night he had given Keith, the cynical bastard who only saw fresh-faced naivetee and futile idealism, something like hope for himself and the world. He only moved forward, eyes on the future.


End file.
